Duty's Call
by Lady Bethia
Summary: Special Ops has been sent to keep an eye on the X-Men. This is a companion set of stories to go along with The Ranger Next Door.
1. Duty's Call I

Title: Duty's Call Author: Crazy Ivan and Lady Bethia Series: Sub Plot in the Ranger Next Door. E-Mail: lady_bethia@yahoo.com, the_crazy_ivan@yahoo.com Home Page: Pairings: None Ratings: PG Warnings: Disclaimers: The X-Men are not mine. I am making no profit from this story. James Smith is my original character. Summary: Introduction of James Smith before he comes to Two Hills. Happens before Teresa becomes the Ranger there.  
  
Duty's Call:  
  
In the 1960's the United States Government realized it had a growing number of threats and potential threats, and shrinking small numbers of ways to control them. Among these perceived threats was the rising menace of the X- Factor Gene. To combat this, the U.S. Military created zombie units that were called Chi Tau, or X-Terminators. In the intervening years these units have proven brutally effective in dealing with a variety of threats to this country. Threats ranging from those of Supernatural Origins to Extraterrestrial, and to the teams original reasons for existing, combating X-Gene'd individuals that were seen as threats to the people of the United States.  
  
The United States Government and Military has persistently denied knowledge of these units. And denies their existence. Yet, in the realm of Urban Myth, they are known, on occasion scoffed at, and at times, feared.  
  
Time: Today  
  
Place: A village in the Columbian Highlands Threat: Terminated  
  
The scene was surreal, like something out of Dante or one of those early Arnold movies. A heavy jungle surrounds the village, and the village itself looked dead, not old, comfortably dead, but new violently, most sincerely dead. Carbon scouring, small fires, and a heavy fog of smoke, humidity, and acrid stenches, most people couldn't recognize, and wouldn't want to even if they were there.  
  
Moving through the landscape were a reinforced squad, wearing matte black equipment, face covering respirator masks, and the very latest in modern military firepower. The crunching of burnt refuse and other things thick under their boots. The sweeps were thorough, professional, and on occasion punctuated by the bark of a high-powered round, echoing through the jungle.  
  
"Chief." A mechanically altered voice reverbs through team communicators, "Chief,"  
  
"I've got an urgent message, from the World."  
  
A large man, made even larger in his modern battle armour and kit turns and walks over to his radio telephone operator, takes an offered line, and plugs into the long range net.  
  
A few minutes later, he unplugs, and broadcasts a signal to his team, 'Recall.'  
  
And within minutes, they respond and fall back to an established LZ, to board heli-transports out of this little corner of hell.  
  
The Devil's Butte Team was going home.  
  
Another threat dealt with, that not even the 'National Enquirer' would print about even if they knew it.  
  
And only the dead witnessed their leaving.  
  
A day later, at their main base, the Devil's Butte Team was debriefing and doing routine maintenance. Routine when nothing else was jumping up, and demanding attention. The installation itself was dug into the Butte that gave them their name. Better yet, it was an old Missile Command base, one that had been officially down graded back in the 70's. It no longer housed nuclear tipped missiles. Now, it was home to 46 men and women, with different priorities, one of a score of Chi Tau Combat Team Bases hidden around the country. Waiting patiently for the call.  
  
As a military instillation, it's walls were dove gray or battleship with hard tiled floors and basic equipment for comfort. But it also had the very latest for surveillance, and communications equipment with the newest toys for the big boys including revetments with air transport, and vehicles. Oh, and guns, lots and lots of guns, of various caliber, and type.  
  
Yet, since these people were people, it had personalizing touches. Calendars with various scenes, from the sublime to the obscene, personal quarters were personalized, as much as possible, pictures, hobby materials and stuff. Yet, it was still just a venire over the military specialty of its occupants. You wouldn't mistake this facility for a frat-boy hang out, if you found it. In truth, not many of the locals knew it was even there because it was hidden on the Indian Reservation. Most of the Reservation Council knew of it only because of the rent payments to the Tribe for a few square miles of desert and that was about it.  
  
Yet inside, the teams knew that one of their number was leaving. His door said, Smith, James, CW4, and nothing else. Inside, the man named Smith was packing his bags, the orders on his pillow. Proceed to assigned location, and begin a year's duty as a watcher. Nice boring duty. Except the last three watchers had been pulled out of Westchester County because the risk was to great of these watchers getting caught by the watched. So now, it was Smith's turn. A man known by his associates as 'The Ghost.'  
  
"Hey, Gun Runner. Who'd you piss off, to get this assignment???" Comes a voice from the req room.  
  
"Hell if I know." Comes CW4 Smith's response.  
  
"Guess someone needed the best of the best."  
  
"Too bad, they got me."  
  
"Remember, Chief, Happiness is a confirmed kill." Comes the joking response.  
  
"Ya, I know, I know."  
  
The Chief stands up, looks over his bags, nods, "And which of you low life lifers is gonna help me get my kit to the bird???"  
  
A couple of troopers rustle themselves, and make noises about doing that, or something like it.  
  
SFC Landrum is the first to the door. "Chief, How long you goin' to be at this site?"  
  
"Till I get caught, or I'm relieved, or I retire."  
  
"You got the 'Rodent' at this fancy school."  
  
The Chief grins, "Eyup. Even know his favorite bar. May be goin' out for a casual drink. And if I just happen, happen, mind, to run into this little scrapper, maybe I'll have a friendly little talk with him. SFC Landrum guffaws in response, and several others openly laugh.  
  
"That would be a sight for these old eyes," another Warrant adds, the name tape on his uniform announces 'Heath.' "That would be a sight indeed."  
  
"Especially after what he did to 'Old Frosty.' Hear he's still in the hospital. And it's been a couple of years."  
  
"Yeah, Sergeant Major Frost was one of a kind. Just dumb luck he got caught by the rodent. Worse, he was making an evac, just got caught in a cross fire."  
  
"True, but I still want a piece of the 'Rodent.'"  
  
"Amen," comes the response.  
  
Landrum grins, "Any chance getting that fight on film? I'd pay good Yankee dollars to see that little dance."  
  
"I can but try, Now let's get my gear to the bird."  
  
A few minutes sorting, and moving and a small group starts working it's way to a jeep, then drives quietly to the airstrip.  
  
Then another few minutes getting gear stowed on a C-141, destination, Norton Air Force Base, in New York State.  
  
Once secured, the Chief turns to his friends, shakes hands then salutes, and they return it. Then he boards the plane, and they watch it close up, taxi off, and then lift off down the runway. Xavier's Institute for Gifted Youngsters was about to have a new watcher. And Woe be to the wicked, or the X-Men, if Chief Smith find them doing anything wrong. 


	2. Duty's Call II

Title: Duty's Call Author: Crazy Ivan and Lady Bethia Series: Sub Plot in the Ranger Next Door. E-Mail: lady_bethia@yahoo.com, the_crazy_ivan@yahoo.com Home Page: Pairings: None Ratings: PG Warnings: Disclaimers: The X-Men are not mine. I am making no profit from this story. James Smith is my original character. Summary: The X-Men get a clue that James Smith is in Two Hills. Prequel to Ranger Chapter 2.  
  
Duty's Call, II:  
  
It was a quite time at the Two Hills State Park. The tourists had gone, the school kids were getting ready for the ordeal to continue. And, rumor had it a new Park Ranger was being hired. Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters was watching that one with some interest.  
  
Logan was beefing about the new Ranger's coming in, and cramping his style. Just like the previous ones. The ones that made him nervous. Especially since the beginning of summer. Something was bothering him. He just didn't know what, and he did know that the Park Rangers were part of the problem.  
  
So he chased them off. It had been easy. Youngsters, city kids looking to go back to nature. A little primal beast, and they'd run. It still made him nervous though. Not enough to overly worry the rest of the team about, but enough to make him even more irritable than normal.  
  
And the rest of the team quietly ignored him.  
  
Logan was paranoid by profession. Just this time, they didn't think it was anything important.  
  
And, in the park, shadows flitted, animals moved, on occasion, a back packer would camp without paying their fees, and get away with it. The park was known for not having a permanent Ranger. And better was in poor repair.  
  
And some of the shadows were more than just tricks of the light.  
  
Some of the shadows were placing and monitoring ground surveillance radar, boom mikes, or at least one of them. And all the equipment was set for passive accumulation, and aimed at the Xavier Mansion. Logan was paranoid. But even paranoids can be right. There was a 'Ghost' in the works. Quietly watching, quietly monitoring the academy and its students, recording their comings and goings. And every few days, at no regular times and no regular places a high-speed laser squirt was aimed skyward. Another report filed. Another supply drop scheduled.  
  
As a matter of course, Professor Xavier would send his charges out for security tests. Evaluations of their security, if you will, and they would come back, reporting nothing. He'd look concerned, he always did. Then go back to his office, to pull out a file, with some documents from a few of his old Air Force friends from Fort Eustis. And look more concerned. But this time, behind closed doors. Another little known secret of Professor Charles Xavier was exactly what he did while in the Air Force. Or that he still held a Reserve Commission in the United States Air Force as a Lieutenant Colonel. If you didn't need to know, you didn't know. But some old friends, never forgot, and never talked.  
  
Charles Xavier was reading reports on his own students, from Military Intelligence Files, within two weeks of those reports being filed.  
  
Who ever this individual was, they were good. Very good.  
  
And that worried him. It worried him even more that his old friends, and associates had Thought fit to tell him about this one. This Chief Warrant Officer 4 James Smith.  
  
Impressive record. Someone the old army would have called a motivated individual. A truly motivated individual. Service in Vietnam, including making Staff Sergeant, 4 medals for bravery, including the Congressional Medal of Honor. A couple of gimme medals for participating in the South East Asian War Games. In service at 16, or face going to Parchmen Prison. Discharged at 20. Disaster as a civilian. Then back in. Special Forces Training, Para Training, Ranger Training, Black Sunday Training, Helicopter Pilot School, and then the coveted Fire Bird Training Program. Every time the U.S. Military was deployed Warrant Smith was there. Combat Medals, campaign medals, schools, NATO and WARSAW Pact Weapons Qualified expert, the equivalent of three black belts, the mans training files were boring.  
  
An interesting file Warrant Smith had. And it got even more interesting after he died in a Helicopter accident during desert Shield. A Distinguished Service Medal, posthumously, for getting his bird down long enough to get the rest of the crew and his passengers out, then it flipped, and he was dead on arrival. After that, he got nasty. Joining the Chi Tau, and added his sense of motivation to that august organization. Him, and a select group of fellow Black Sunday trainees from the Fort Bragg area. The lot of them, motivated individuals. All of them, also having accidents, or dieing in the line of duty. Only to go on rosters as Chi Tau.  
  
And this man was watching his school. Watching his students, and sizing them up for threat potential to the people and government of the United States.  
  
Except for Logan's feelings of paranoia, they had no clue he was out there.  
  
Charles Xavier steepled his fingers over the file, and brooded. Was this man a mutant hater?, or was he just watching and following orders. And feeding his information to other people that were mutant haters?  
  
It would be so much easier if they could invite him in for a cup of coffee, and a quiet talk. But that wasn't going to happen. Not until they found him.  
  
And that was not happening. Even with the file on his desk. Yet, he could not tell his students yet. Some of them would take it calmly; several would go on a rampage, looking for Warrant Officer Smith. And that could, would get ugly.  
  
Finally, he reaches out his mind and finds Scott Summers, out enjoying a quiet picnic with his wife, Jean. Smiles to himself, and decides to wait. They need their time together as much as anyone. He'd send another student with a note for when they got back.  
  
This had been on his desk for months, another few hours wouldn't matter.  
  
In the forest, past the wall around the mansion, a shadow was focusing a sniper tele-photo lens at the happy couple. Calmly snapping away, then shifting the camera, quietly, patiently, pictures of the couple, other students, listing them by name as he caught their images on the camera. Rogue, good Mississippi Girl, Storm, Weather Witch, Blake, Robert, Ice and snow generator, "must be real popular at parties," he thought to himself, movement. Shift the camera ever so slight, refocus, short, bad hair cut, denims and cowboy boots, 'Eyup, it's the Rodent,'  
  
'Time to move,' he thought to himself. 'Not ready to handle him yet.'  
  
And he chuckled, as he slowly started moving from his position. Remembering the night he'd gotten photo evidence and thermal imaging of a bit of passion between Logan and Storm. 'The Rodent sure seems to have a way with the ladies.'  
  
A quick, quiet chuckle, and more slow moving, back out of the tree, through the brush, stop long enough to erase his scent with a pheromone spray, and then down into the creek and with the stream to a pack up camp.  
  
Better tomorrow was Sunday. He could let himself go to the diner on the old state highway, and get a good breakfast and some hot coffee. "Hot Coffee," he whispered, "From a pot, steaming, and fresh." He shut up again, and continued his moves. He'd be gone long before Logan even got around to shaking loose this piece of brush.  
  
Logan stopped at the edge of the property, and looked into the state park. And smiled. Another chance to run a little, and give in to his animal instinct. That and maybe scratch his itch about being watched.  
  
A long lazy stretch, then he kicked over the wall, and started hunting. Nose in the air, body tensed and ready to spring. He could spend hours hunting through this park. Sometimes he even took game.  
  
When the need was on him, he took game.  
  
And thought fondly of a bit of deer liver. Sweet, fresh and hot, and he ran a little faster, watching for sign.  
  
Then came the surprise. He burst through the brush into a small clearing, and stopped dead in his tracks. He'd surprised a buck. This early in rut, and they surprised each other. Both staring at each other in shock and surprise. Logan took a good long sniff, the buck's nostrils quivered in response. Nothing. Neither could smell what their eyes told them they saw. The buck recovered first. And bounded off. Logan watched it go, confusion writ large on his face. How could he not smell that?  
  
Then he stopped, and took a long sniff. He couldn't even smell himself.  
  
Startled again, he looked around in surprise. This was wrong. Bad wrong. Yet how had it happened? If it had happened, hadn't it?  
  
Back tracking, slowly, he found nothing. No scents, no tracks, no nothing. Once back at the Mansion, he immediately headed for Professor X's office. This was something for Charlie. Then a shower, see if that made a difference. Then suit up and go hunting for real.  
  
Within minutes he found the office, and barged right in, only mildly surprised to find Scott and Jean already there. There and reading some papers that the Professor had set out.  
  
"O.K., listen Chuck, something is wrong in Two Hills. I found a Buck."  
  
"Logan, you didn't" comes the shocked response from Jean.  
  
"No, I didn't. I found one, and we surprised each other. I couldn't smell him. He couldn't smell me. He broke from his 'Gore in the Headlights' stance and ran. Me?, I came back here."  
  
"Call me anything you want Chuck. But someone or something is out there."  
  
"And I don't like it."  
  
Professor Xavier looked at his prized pupils, "Well Scott, given what you and Jean have just read, what do you think?"  
  
Scott looked up from the file, "I think we need another security exercise."  
  
"It is probably nothing. But if it spooks Logan, well, we could use the exercise."  
  
Professor looks at Jean, who also nods her agreement, then turns to Logan, "Alright Logan, get cleaned up, and you lead half the students on a security sweep through the park. "Scott, you take the other half, and do sweeps of the grounds. Keep in touch. And let me know what you find."  
  
Logan and Scott nod in agreement, and went forth to roust out the students.  
  
Time for another security drill. Time for more wasted time tromping through the woods groused Bobby Drake, aka, Ice Man. "Why not do something fun at least."  
  
Rogue looked at him, and grinned, "Good, you can go to the stowa, Suga. Turn about, an all a'that. I'll talk to Storm an the others, about getting' you a shoppin' list. Good enough."  
  
Bobby looks at Rogue, eye brow raised, "Go to the store, that's it?"  
  
Rogue nods with a grin, "Sure thing, Suga."  
  
"Right, I'll go. Get the list, I'll but on something a little more normal. And valiantly go to the store."  
  
Rogue giggled as Bobby left. "Sure thing, Suga. We got a little treat for ya, just wait till you get that list."  
  
She giggled again, and started going through the X-Women, telling them what she was doing, and that Bobby had volunteered to go to the store for them. And the list grew.  
  
Even as the search turned up nothing.  
  
Another wasted exercise. Perhaps.  
  
Logan didn't think so. But what it was he didn't know what to think.  
  
Yet. But, what he did know, he didn't like it. 


	3. Duty's Call III

Title: Duty's Call Author: Crazy Ivan and Lady Bethia Series: Sub Plot in the Ranger Next Door. E-Mail: lady_bethia@yahoo.com, the_crazy_ivan@yahoo.com Home Page: Pairings: None Ratings: PG Warnings: Disclaimers: The X-Men are not mine. I am making no profit from this story. James Smith is my original character. Summary: The X-Men get a clue that James Smith is in Two Hills. Before Teresa becomes the Ranger at Two Trees.  
  
Duty's Call, III: (Interlude)  
  
The tall man walked down the old state highway, like he had a mission in life. And enthusiasm for that mission. He did. Dressed like most of the locals, you could tell a few differences, the tall engineers boots didn't fit in locally, neither did the black cargo pants, but the flannel shirt, the ball cap, and the navy blue sports vest worked well. Even the summer mornings in upstate New York could be chilly.  
  
It was a Sunday. That meant Steak and Eggs, Fresh Hot Coffee, he patted his thermos fondly. That Highway Dinner had even gotten grits for him. Grits, in New York. He chuckled in amusement.  
  
"Let's see, The Sunday Papers, hot breakfast, not from a ration pack. Fresh coffee, again not from a ration pack."  
  
"This mission could almost be fun."  
  
His gate picked up, as he saw the parking lot around the curve in the road. Breakfast was calling. And he wanted it, more than he wanted a lot of things since taking this mission.  
  
And a few minutes later, he was seated at the far end of the counter in the dinner, placing his order. The staff knew his face, if nothing else,  
  
Better, Emma, his usual waitress liked the tips. Every Sunday, he'd pull a Twenty, pay for his meal and leave the change on the counter top. Even topping his thermos every Sunday, the tip was still about $7, out of the twenty. So she'd never get rich, it helped.  
  
And this day seemed like the others. Nice and boring.  
  
And promising as the steak and eggs came out for the man that Emma thought was named Jim.  
  
But, boring has a habit of changing. Fast.  
  
Just down the road, two young men sit in their candy apple red Mustang Convertible. Both obviously young, both also obviously thinking highly of themselves, Tim and Bob were looking for trouble. A quick robbery, and then on the road with a little coin in their pocket.  
  
"Now listen Bob," Tim stretched in his seat, "These yokels will just roll over, flash a gun, make our demands, and we be gone. Long before the Mounties get a chance to respond and come out."  
  
"Easy. Easier than that Stop and Rob we hit down the road yesterday."  
  
Bob snickered, remembering that Hindi, cowering behind the counter. "Yeah, that had been fun. He shat all over hisself. Yes, he did."  
  
"O.K., I'll take the Pistol, you take the shot gun and cover. Easy, and if somebody gets heroic, shot'em. "  
  
"Dead?, I can kill'em." Came Bob's response. "Coolness."  
  
"Let's roll. I wanna scare some yokels. Yeah, I do."  
  
So Tim put the 'Stang back into gear and they rolled into the parking lot of the 'Old Highway Dinner.'  
  
Bob counted and found the four cars present did not exceed his ability to count, and reached between his legs for the sawed off.  
  
Tim rolled to a stop, "O.K., I go first, you give me two minutes and come on in."  
  
"Got it?"  
  
He hit Bob on the head, "Pay attention, Got It?"  
  
Bob rubbed his head, "I ain't stupid. I got it. I got it."  
  
"Good. Two minutes."  
  
Tim got out, pulled the lower edge of his leather jacket down, ran his hands through his hair, and started sauntering into the Dinner.  
  
Nobody gave him another glance as he came through the door. Nor seemed to pay attention as he walked to the cash register. Not a one of the 7 people getting something to eat at the Dinner so much as blinked.  
  
Emma noted the skinny kid at the Register, and the other one starting to walk in. Giving her hands a quick wipe on one of the handy counter towels, she walked to the Register. Little thinking that this would be any other than another customer.  
  
And that thought lasted until she got to the Register, and the youngster pulled at gun, pointed it at her face, and in a squeaky voice told her, "No troubles, keep it cool. I take the cash, and we go away happy. Got that, 'Ho.'"  
  
She nodded, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Yes she had been robbed before, but it hurt, and there was always the chance that this one might just shoot anyway.  
  
She quickly filled a small bag with the money in the register, as the other youngster came up and pulled a sawed off shotgun out from under his coat.  
  
And with the shotgun out Time took a position by the register to watch the Dinner, and with a grin took the bag, turned to face the Dinner's dazed patrons, "This here, is a robbery. Me, I'm goin' to go down this here beanery and collect contributions from each and every one of you to help make sure me and my friend don't go doin' somethin' you all might regret.  
  
He was gratified as he saw the people react in shock, and surprise. Until he noticed the seventh patron was ignoring him. Ignoring him and just eating his breakfast, like nothing was wrong. Bob felt irritated. You didn't just ignore him, not when he had the nine out.  
  
So Bob told Tim "Cover me. We bein' disrespected by that hick down there."  
  
"Can I shoot him" came Tim's answer.  
  
"Naw, not yet. I'm goin' to teach him to respect his betters. Yes I am."  
  
So saying he swaggered to the end of the Dinner, and put his pistol against the temple of the man at the end of the counter.  
  
"You ignoring me, Slick?"  
  
The hick just kept eating.  
  
Bob pushed to pistol into the stranger's temple. "I said, You ignoring me, Slick?"  
  
Then time went mad.  
  
In a blink, Bob was face down on the counter, screaming in pain. A splash echoed from behind the counter, even as something clattered harmlessly on the floor. And before Time could bring the shotgun to bear, his nerveless right hand dropped the weapon to the floor. Then Tim focused on the biggest man he had ever seen, moving quickly up the center of the Dinner's floor to pick him up, one handed and slam him into the wall.  
  
Tim half expected the stranger to say something Darth Vaderish, but he didn't. He just held him off the floor, his eyes two flat chips of obsidian looking into his, and Tim gave vent to the only way he had to show his fear. He felt then heard the patter of urine running down his lead then onto the floor. For in those eyes, he saw death, if he wasn't really care. And death, maybe if he was.  
  
The big man in the flannel shirt opened his mouth, "You ruined my breakfast. One of the high points of my week. And you just waltzed in and tried to draw down."  
  
"That makes me angry."  
  
And with a casual flip he threw the stunned teen onto the floor. Pointed to him, when he came to a stop, pointed one finger at him, "Stay." Came the command. And Tim did.  
  
Looking around, the man in the ball cap, saw the stunned reactions around him, "Emma, call the Sheriff, if you please."  
  
"Oh, first."  
  
He walked behind the counter, unslung his thermos, and filled it with fresh hot coffee. "First things first."  
  
Stopping at the counter after he had his fill, he left a $20, "Sorry about the mess."  
  
And walked out.  
  
A matter of minutes later, two Sheriff's Patrol cars rolled into the Dinner's Parking lot, and found a scene of mild chaos. But no big stranger in a blue vest with a baseball cap.  
  
Some 30 minutes later, Deputy Dan Parker was talking to the Sheriff, "Strangest thing. Almost sounds like Logan was here. But it was too big. Too dark for Saber Tooth, and our perp didn't show anything like mutant powers. So.What you think Sheriff."  
  
"Too many inconsistencies. The punks were taken by something bigger and badder than they thought they were. Just lucky that no one was hurt."  
  
"Now, were did you say the pistol was found?"  
  
Parker sighed, "Well, the mag was on the floor, the pistol was in the deep fryer, there was a loose bullet rolling on the floor, the first perp was his arm broken in two places, and a broken nose. Close to a killing blow. The other perp is scared witless. He remembers black eyes, bulging muscles, and wants, no, demands we take him to jail."  
  
"Where he'll be safe."  
  
The Sheriff shook his head. "A Perp wanting to go to jail."  
  
"That's a first."  
  
"O.K., get the evidence teams out. I've seen the combat style that these people think they saw. Not since I left the S.E.A.L.S. though. We used to call it D.D.T. Department of Dirty Tricks. If we got a Rambo type out here. I want to know about it soonest. Could be trouble. And with the Xavier School close, I don't want any more trouble than we get already."  
  
"O.K., Sheriff, we'll get evidence on it, and get all the information we can."  
  
"Good, This is small, but it makes no since."  
  
And at the far end of the Dinner, a half eaten breakfast sat, getting colder, even as the egg yolks and juices from a rare steak congealed. 


	4. Duty's Call IV, Hunters in the night

Title: Duty's Call Author: Crazy Ivan & Lady Bethia Series: Sub Plot in the Ranger Next Door. Read Before Ranger Chapter 7 E-Mail: lady_bethia@yahoo.com, the_crazy_ivan@yahoo.com Home Page: Pairings: None Ratings: PG Warnings: Disclaimers: The X-Men are not mine. I am making no profit from this story. James Smith is my original character. Summary: A near miss on Xavier's Academy.  
  
Duty's Call, IV: (Hunters in the Night)  
  
It started as a night like any other in Westchester County, New York. It was early fall. The air was crisp and clean, the trees just starting to turn. Stars were just beginning to come out in the sky. It promised to be gloriously beautiful, even when the three matt black Hummers took a side exit off the State Highway, then turned into the State park, their engines purred quietly, in stealth mode. Their sound was that of silent lethality even as they coasted through a new hole in the barbed wire fence, to a quiet stop under the trees.  
  
Four occupants got out then to cover up the signs of their passing, and put up camouflage, to further hide their presence. Once that was done, the occupants of the other vehicles all got out and gathered around their leader for a listen up.  
  
Twelve men, garbed in the latest in Night Combat Equipment, battle dress, night vision goggles, body armor and weapons, lots of weapons, stood ready. It was time for another attack on the Xavier Mansion.  
  
The leader tapped his communications headset, and motioned for everyone to do an equipment check. Then he started speaking softly into the microphone. "Listen careful. This is a sanctioned raid. The purpose is to hurt the X-Men and Charles Xavier's sense of purpose and peace. Remember, go for soft targets. Intel has it that the main combat team members are out on a mission. So, it should be old folks and kids."  
  
"Synchronize your watches, 20:45 hours, should take us an hour, hour fifteen to reach the perimeter, then set up. We start shooting while they are groggy, and then start capping targets."  
  
"Remember, 22:30 hours, we open fire and create confusion, then start cherry picking our targets."  
  
"Right, any questions? No, then move out."  
  
And the twelve started to move through the forest, quietly, stealthily, and very very carefully, after all, they were professionals.  
  
Meanwhile, further into the park, Chief Smith was enjoying time in a field expedient lean to, warming some coffee, and watching intelligence feeds. "Boring can be fun, occasionally," he muttered to himself. Until his early warning alarms told him someone was coming. And it was not from the Mansion but from out side the park.  
  
Taking a moment to finish securing his Chi Tau Battle Dress, he moved into the trees, and up to them to watch, wait and listen.  
  
Scant minutes later, the first of the twelve-man team moved into the hidden clearing, and signaled a stop.  
  
"Number One, something curious here."  
  
Number one moved up to evaluate, and snorted, "We interrupted some bums camp, and you're worried about it?"  
  
"Move out,"  
  
"Now."  
  
As the team moved on, they took a minute to look things over, then out of spite or malice, one of the men kicked over the tommy cooker, spilling out the contents, and extinguishing the cooker as well. For good measure, he stomped it once, then took his place in the formation.  
  
Ten steps further in, he and his team entered 'The Twilight Zone,' minus the early warning appearance of Rod Sterling. The two men on sweep quietly vanished from the rear of the formation. No noise, no fuss, no muss, just gone.  
  
And it took the team time to realize that they were gone. Almost ten minutes. When they realized something was wrong, Number One ordered a stop, so he could double back with two men to check out his missing people.  
  
Fifteen minutes, and no sign. No I.R. signature, no bodies, nothing. Background chatter got a little more intense, but stayed disciplined. After all, looses were acceptable even if they could not explain why.  
  
When Number One rejoined his team, he ran a quick nose count, and found two more missing, his scouts. The Sniper and the Grenadier were also gone without a trace. No sound that any of the others could even complain of.  
  
Meanwhile, 30 feet above them, a dark shadowy figure was listening in on a captured comm. Unit, even as a bound figure was secured to the main trunk of a majestic oak, trying to shout, talk, or do anything but drool, around an old army sock and duct tape.  
  
Military arithmetic, 12 in, four captured, 8 to go. 'By the book, good discipline, good weapons, by the book.'  
  
'Size, reinforced squad, Activity, infiltration, probably toward the mansion, Location, just walking over my cooker and coffee pot,' "Bad Boys" he mumbled, Unit, apparently special ops, covert type, 'Great another rogue unit, amateurs to boot.' 'Time,' a quick glance at his chronometer, '21:00 Hours,' Equipment, HK Machine Pistols, a couple of Arm Burst Rocket Launchers, two SAWs, still, no snipers, not anymore, two men with '16's with Grenade Launchers. Lots of pistols and pretty fair combat communications head sets. Body Armour, slightly above average, not the best, a quick look at his nearest victim, two frags, one smoker, oh goody, one nerve gas.' A quick rummage through his victim's respirator pouch, 'Nope, no Atropine. Typical. Amateurs.'  
  
Taking a moment to pluck the grenade from his victim's gear, he looked it over in the faint moonlight, and upped the capacity of his vision receptors to cat vision. 'Oh goody, paralytic nerve agent, and they are not even carrying proper NBC Equipment.'  
  
He looked at his victim one more time, 'Amateur night in my woods. I could have given you a pass, but no, you idiots kicked over my lifer juice. That made it personal.'  
  
'Idiots.'  
  
Moving swiftly, he started using the trees to move into a better position to watch the attackers below him. 'Not bad, not listening enough, but not bad.'  
  
"Circling up, to deal with what ever threat they face."  
  
'Two dimensional.' He muttered, shaking his head in amazement, 'Not looking up or down, only around.'  
  
'Too easy.'  
  
Back on the ground, Number One was having his surviving team members scan for anything with unusual body thermals in the surrounding terrain. "After all, the X-Men have fire using and ice using muties as well, as some that could pass for norms."  
  
And with quiet confidence, but a growing sense of concern, they looked around, wondering what they were looking for, curious what could take four of them down that quietly, yet, still confident they could deal with this new threat.  
  
Yet, they had forgotten an ancient military axiom. No plan survives first contact with the enemy. And, worse, and they didn't know it; they had found the wrong enemy.  
  
The intruder lowered himself slowly into the middle of their defensive circle. Quietly, slowly, still listening to their radio chatter. Small stuff, nervous stuff. No change. Good, nothing different. Then, within 10 feet of the ground, he dropped to the ground, and rolled. Two responded by spinning at the soft sound of something behind them, and saw nothing. No body, nothing on thermals, zip. And they relaxed.  
  
That was their last mistake. The first caught a dagger in his eye. His counterpart saw the death of his teammate, and started to raise an alarm, only to find that something hard was in his throat and depriving him of the power of speech and the ability to breath.  
  
Him hitting the ground alerted the others something was wrong. The entire team spun around at the sound of the thump of their fallen companions saw nothing normal, or even abnormal. Until Number One registered movement toward his three o'clock position pivoted and then fired.  
  
Given the high state of excitement of his team, that was all it took, six men with automatic weapons opened fire into what was a classic Mexican Firing Squad. Two men went down immediately, gurgling blood through chest wounds, or worse. Then the unseen shadow moved against one of the lightly wounded men, still standing. The three survivors saw their team mate being lifted into the air, by nothing they could see on thermals or night sensors, yet he was still dangling in the air, feet off the ground, kicking feebly as the air in his blood thinned out. Three automatic weapons barked as one, at what and where their unseen enemy had to be. The intruder rocked on his boot heels, looked at the survivors, and casually snapped the neck of the man he was holding by the throat.  
  
Then that poor departed soul was used as a shield, as the dark intruder rushed two of the survivors, leaving Number One alone, for the moment. Number one paused a moment to turn off his Thermal Goggles, to give him a chance at seeing what was killing his team. He hoped. And in the blink of an eye, two more of his team were down, one crying softly for his mother, the other not doing much of anything after being slammed into a tree, other than slumping slowly to the ground.  
  
Number One, did the only thing he could think of, he emptied his machine pistol into the target he could at least marginally see in the dark. He knew he was hitting his target. The target that kept coming toward him, then casually reached out, took his machine pistol away from him, and then held up a cylindrical object that he recognized as one of the teams nerve gas grenades.  
  
Fear held him in place, what was this, it didn't look like a mutie, it looked like something from a cheap movie, part Star Wars, part Terminator. And a minute was all that was needed, for his enemy to casually pull the pin on the Nerve Gas, and then remove his respirator. His last thought was, 'Who is this guy?, How could he move that fast?'  
  
Smith shook his head slowly, 'Amateur night,' he murmured.  
  
He sighed deeply. 'Now I gotta call in a clean up team.' He perked up at a new thought as he dusted his hands off, 'Maybe they could bring in some more coffee.'  
  
He casually tossed off a salute to the man at his feet, 'Thanks, I almost owe you. I may even get some real coffee out of this.'  
  
And he walked off, whistling, thinking about John Wayne Bars and Java. 'Maybe these idiots weren't a total waste of my time after all.'  
  
Later that night, three whisper driven black birds took off from a small clearing in the park, leaving a very happy observer with three tins of real coffee, a case of John Wayne Bars, and two Phillie Cheese Steak Sandwiches.  
  
'I love my job,' thought CW Smith, as he dug into the first sandwich, while waiting for his new coffee pot to brew his beverage of choice.  
  
*John Wayne Bars are military issue ration candy, circular, and coming in a variety of flavors. Milk Chocolate, Milk Chocolate with Crispies, and various Chocolate covered nuggets being just a few. My personal favorites were the strawberry cream and the coconut cream.  
  
Read Chapter 7 of The Ranger Next Door 


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